


Whose side are you on

by dawndew



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Auction, Badass Eren Yeager, Blood and Gore, Civil War, Dystopia, Found Family, Genocide, Human Experimentation, Human Trafficking, Interspecies Relationship(s), Kidnapping, M/M, Modern Royalty, Non-Human Humanoid Society, Revolution, Slavery, Slow Burn, Thief Eren Yeager, Titan War, Titan-Haired Eren Yeager, Xenophobia, discrimination against Eldians, it’s pretty much like in 20th century, references to German mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawndew/pseuds/dawndew
Summary: Paradi is torn apart after war between the two races inhabiting it. The ruling royal dynasty is overthrown and doomed to exile or death. After incomprehensible massive attack of titans on humanity, Eldians are imagined as lowest kind, looked upon with contempt and hatred because they are able to turn into creatures that once terrorized the continent; they are killed, tortured and experimented with, sold like cattle. The Eldians have absolutely no rights, because new government believes that is a punishment for the crimes of their species. Opinions about the origin of this nation, possessing unthinkable abilities, differ significantly.Who are they?Descendants of the Devil or Goddess?
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Erwin Smith, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Levi/Eren Yeager, Moblit Berner/Hange Zoë
Kudos: 8





	Whose side are you on

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the events in canonverse, but that’s it. I changed some things for the sake of my fic. It’s an AU so...it doesn’t matter. Eldians are physically noticeably different than Marleyans ( besides skin color), I don’t want to infodump but If you want more information — write a comment and I’ll answer) 
> 
> Paradi is based of England (20th century)

_**“ Eldia shall rule this world with its Titans. And they shall continue to reign forever. Forever, so long as our reign knows no end. ”  
** _

* * *

The lock creaked, fidgeting from the dexterous movements of trembling hands, the pins briskly fingered the pins, alternately pressing on them. The rolling crackle of overturning gears mingled with the fluttering of the crickets that densely covered the ivy that profusely covered the high stone fence. Clicking, grinding, creaking, then again the ephemeral moment of silence. The window, a low and thin strip of glass hidden under a layer of dried dust and dirt, was ajar. It was, of course, impossible to crawl through it, but with its help it was possible to find out if there was anyone outside the door. The lack of an extension for the servants greatly facilitated the task. Eren pressed his face against the door and froze. Quiet, if you do not take into account the rustle of picks in the well.

Turn after turn, the lock opened rapidly and the cycle of rhythmic clicks continued until the core turned, and the handle of the lock pulled out, turning. Eren covered his mouth with a hand, exhaling deeply and jerkily. His fingers trembled as he pulled out the pick. His entire body was numb and he could hardly feel the pins in his palm. Squeezing and twisting in his hand, he put them in a small pocket of a roomy bag hung over his shoulder. The rumble of a heartbeat overshadowed all the sounds surrounding him, and when he opened the door, he heard nothing but a rumbling pounding in his head.

The pantry resembled a box in its size, all its sides filled entirely with shelves and boxes with bags. A faded streak of light, barely passing through the dull glass, softly enveloped part of the warehouse. Eren slowed down for a moment, his feet in fabric boots pressed tightly to the stone floor, listening to any rustle and biting his lower lip, thinking. Usually only tools, grain, flour, firewood and coal were stored in such closets, none of this would be in demand in places where farming was impossible and he didn’t even know the purpose of half the things that were there. Storage of building materials is generally not worth stuttering.

Sell? But who will buy? Such an unjustified risk. The only possibility are retired military men, but you need to select them with extreme care, and there is no time for that when you need to eat. Besides, you won't get much for such a product. Eren shook his head and stepped over the squat steps leading to the spacious kitchen; those were often decrepit and constantly creaked. Going around the wide marble table, Eren, unable to resist, ran his hand over it, fascinated by the play of reflections in specks that stretched across the furniture like a vine.

Immediately pulling himself up and brushing off the glove on the jacket, as if from dirt. The feeling of shock at this inaccessible luxury caused him unprecedented nausea. After examining the cabinets for possible hiding places and ignoring the spices that could not be used, he took out a homemade twist and, as far as possible, silently packed the cutlery into it. With silver, if you knew how to trade, you could cash in. The slammed cover made the bag heavy, but only slightly. It still hung like an empty sack. There was a lot of work ahead. Eren suddenly caught a scent that caused everything inside to tip over. He took a deep breath a couple of times, not believing his luck. His stomach twisted into a tight, bubbling lump and his mouth filled with saliva. He walked over to a basket lying on the edge of the table, wrapped in a lace scarf.

Bread.

Oh Foundress.

For a second it seemed to him that he had stopped breathing, it was so hard to swallow. He grabbed it and carefully, like a wounded bird, brought it to his face. Heat hit his face, filling everything around with a soft scent.

Fresh. Warm. Bread.

Unbelievable. Eren crunched it lightly in his hand, the loaf crunched, full, but light and golden without a hint of gypsum and chalk mixed in it. It was strange. What this bread was made of? The scent made Eren dizzy and the lump inside tightened even tighter, knocking the air out of his chest. He was in no hurry to break off a piece, because if he is lucky he will be able to buy cheese or fried fish with watercress with the rest of the proceeds - He will have a real feast! The belly rumbled in anticipation. Tucking the bread into the inner pocket of his cape and enjoying the heat a little, Eren made his thoughts go back in the right direction. Empty, though not for long, mansions are difficult to find and such an opportunity couldn’t be missed. It took a lot to find out about the set meetings of officers just to calculate the time for theft.

The carved sliding doors gave in easily, spreading out to the sides. The boots gently stirred up the pile, the feet sank into it like meadow grass. It shimmered, played with glare and dimmed in the reflections of light that slid down the smooth windowsills and poured over the floorboards of the smooth parquet. His drops covered the spacious living room with a crooked pattern, making it look like an ancient temple. The windows are closed so as not to let in dust and choking smoke from the streets, blackout curtains like a heavy brown waterfall stretch along the walls and, a little, the floor. Immobile small white sparks of stars through the glass touch them with their brilliance. Eren wasted no time in emptying the room. He began to collect everything that glittered and showed fine jewelry. These things had no meaning for him except a rough understanding of their value. He didn't know much about it himself, but black market traders could sometimes provide useful advice and guidance: how expensive things look, what they can be exchanged for, where they usually stand. Painted snuff boxes, ornate clocks, a crystal ashtray, fine porcelain figurines that once adorned the wide mantelpiece are now packed tightly in the pockets of a tattered bag. It would be worth to sew buttons to it, and not to go with a primitive fastener, but they rarely came across on the Stream. The bag was full and Eren, looking around the empty room without luxury, realized that it looked rather meager. Of course, it was not for him to judge such things, but something in his mind considered the income scanty, and the place modest. This craving has grown in him like a tumor. Not to the frills, no. As if he missed something. Eren had nothing to compare with, but this deep feeling did not leave and tormented him.

Before he could figure out what gave rise to this strange sensation, the blow of the front door shook the silence of the night. Eren stepped back in surprise and let out a choked breath. Heavy footsteps, which looked like a group of people, and drunken slurred speech saturated the air, and Eren barely found the will to move when sparks of light from an electric lamp fell from the corridor. Everything flashed before his eyes as dull spots and flashes. Eren nearly bumped into the table running out of the kitchen. Panic sharply sobered the mind and the body plunged into a trance, it was suddenly filled with a calm awareness of what needed to be done and he had enough reason to close the door behind him without touching the wall with the lock. Swiftly overcoming a small neat lawn, he grabbed the first vine he came across, tightly wrapped around the fence, and quickly climbed upward, since life among abandoned factories and buildings taught him to climb well. Eren resisted the urge to jump off the stone slab, crowned with pretentious peaks - with a fragile weight on his shoulder, it would have ended in disaster. He climbed carefully over them before continuing to descend the vines.

Blood was pounding in his ears and his heart was beating wildly against his chest as he ran through the impenetrable smog and smoke, bypassing the hideously dirty doorways and alleys. The rag that covered half of the face did not interfere with the nauseating stench, the smell of fuel, rot and sewage enveloped the roads like a dome. The buildings, covered with a thick layer of ingrained soot and dust, all looked alike. Unsightly gray buildings with brick roofs, in especially narrow corridors of the streets you could not see the sky because of the wet clothes hung on the ropes; it could hang there for days and not dry out, since a clear sky was an unprecedented concept, instead of it the city was covered with a viscous canvas of fog emanating from numerous factories and plants. From the stench watery eyes and a burning nose, Eren wrapped himself tighter on his thrown hood, donning cracked goggles.

Rarely, amid the noise of the crowd near the ferry, one could hear from passers-by in neat and expensive clothes that this city was beautiful before _they_ were all sent here. Eren didn't really believe them. 

The curve of the gateway changed one after another until he found the right place. Turning around a nondescript turn, Eren came to a dead end, lined with decrepit boards and rags. Previously, when these places were set in abandoned factories, the entrances were marked with red ribbons. However, even the military idiots immediately spotted what was the matter and quickly covered the shop. Now they are not so easy to find. Eren pulled on one of the rusty protruding nails and the board parted. Pushing aside the rags, Eren quickly walked inside and pushed back the huge board so that it stood as before. In the middle of the small space was the outline of a hatch leading to the sewer. Well, in theory. He carefully removed the bag and placed it close to him, crouching and sliding the hatch open.

Nothing was visible below, except for a narrow circular tunnel leading down like a burrow and thin pieces of iron that acted as steps. Eren picked up the bag again, slung it over his shoulder, and easily took a step forward, plunging into the pitch darkness. Just before the wide pipe leading downward snapped, he grabbed one hand for the nearest step, hanging from the rickety semblance of a ladder. Finding the right lever with his foot, he pressed it with his foot and the last part of the ladder smoothly slid out of the dark tunnel, staggering and rattling.

Light and noise hit him hard on head, forcing him to close eyes. Even the goggles, smoked in soot and coal, did not save them from blinding flashes. No matter how much Eren came down here, the kaleidoscope of colors and lights, brightly burning and softly flickering, always caught him by surprise. He did not think that he would ever be able to look at this forbidden world with his own eyes, and not under a muddy twisted prism. The noise of screams and chatter merged and layered layer by layer, making it impossible to make out anything. Sultry, hot waves of odors enveloped the place like smog on the surface. After adjusting his glasses and wiping the misted glass with his palm, Eren pulled the bag closer to him and covered it with his cloak. Just in case.

The stairs with an imperceptible rumble hit the stone platform, barely reaching the wall. Eren was instantly thrown into turmoil. The stream was a small network of dead-end sewer forks leading nowhere; some, of course, reached the river, but there were gratings installed at the exit, and if you broke them, you would be immediately grabbed by the PSA, and their clusters were just by the ferry, so there was no point. The abandoned tunnels were surprisingly huge, there was enough space to build four rows of stalls, some of which stood tight against a rounded wall right on the stone platforms. The rest were on a thick wooden platform, like a bridge connecting the two banks of the Stream. Flimsy broken lanterns hung from the walls, holders with church candles were tied in a pitiful way — Eren always looked at this with understanding; after all, the church they were forced to go to was an outrage against their own faith and it was impossible to show respect for it. It even deserved to be honored in some way. The military has always taken such issues seriously and it was outstanding if you saw something stolen from the church on the black market. Rarely did someone manage to escape with something like this.

The market was an insane and wild contrast to the superficial ghetto. People here were in a state of intoxication with adrenaline, excitement or anticipation. This place was dominated by a violent and irreconcilable atmosphere, and everyone who stepped here immediately fell under its influence. Despite the lack of trust, they all felt a subtle, subtle connection between each other. Although they don't really care about other’s fates, because your own skin is always more important, there was a kind of cohesion and acceptance. Everything that they did and for what they came here, it was only for survival. Everything was simple and understandable.

This was the price of freedom. That little grain of it, which was selected by them.

“Well done,” he just shrugged while the pawnshop carefully felt and weighed his contribution. The rumble of the heartbeat beat right in the throat, everything inside was compressed and spun like a mechanism. And Eren felt that he was about to break from anxious anticipation. Risky theft and malnutrition were worth something. With impatience he began to trample and play with his fingers with the handle of the bag.

  
“Here you go.” When stacks of cheques were pushed onto the counter in front of them, he shyly noticed that his sigh was stuck in his throat and he barely suppressed the shameful urge to cough. Without controlling the intense trembling in his fingers, he hastily put the money into an empty bag, not allowing himself to feel its weight. Eren has seen marks only a couple of times here and, considering which way he had to go through the trays to the right place, it was too much temptation and, unfortunately, he was susceptible to impulsive decisions. He remembered about the bread that he hid in his pocket and it sobered him. Still curiosity tickled his nerves. _So that’s how money looks?_

The tables were full of all sorts of trinkets, interior items, small jewelry, clothes and food. A thick curtain of steam from smoking cauldrons and pots was reddish with the light of paper lanterns hung on sticks that held the draped linens. There is hubbub, shouts and chatter everywhere. Having overcome the colorful maze, Eren quickened his pace, as soon as he noticed a familiar nondescript office in his field of view, it stood in one of the curves of a large tunnel and, unlike the others, was hung with rags both from above and to the sides, creating the appearance of a large hut, the dome of which was suspended in the corner of the bend. Approaching the entrance, Eren sniffed and rolled hard into a mask. The smell of alcohol immediately caused a surge of disgust, it is not surprising that no one put their stalls next to this one. Constantly enduring such a stench, everyone can go crazy.

Exhaling in displeasure, he parted the curtains and stepped inside, fighting his gagging urge. Inside, the furnishings were no better than a snare, everything is also cluttered and stuffy. The platform was covered with old, dusty carpets, too gruesome and dirty to sell. The smoke of cigarettes covered everything with an unpleasant gray tint. A wide space was filled with round tables, at which twenty people were sitting. The clink of bottles, the smell of tobacco and the rustle of playing cards. Typical former military. Shaking his head, Eren decisively pushed his way through the crowds. They had nothing to be afraid of, in such a state they are not even able to offend a fly.

He had hardly reached the extreme table, surrounded by a half-open curtain, as the indistinct noise of a group of men fell silent for a moment.

“Oh, kid, I thought you already bailed out!”  
  


Behind the mask, it was not visible how he scoffed.

“And left you with your first installment? You wish. Is everything ready?”

The man curled his lips, kissing the bottle again. How he could speak in such a state remained a mystery. Eren shrank in disgust, the stench was unbearable. If Hannes had not been the only passable smuggler in the entire Stream, he would never have come here. Judging by his posture, his attitude to this place was noticeable. A couple of idiots moved closer to him, holding out half-empty bottles. Eren felt very sick.

“You won't join us, huh?”

By force of will, he forced himself to stand still, and not move away as he wanted.

“Ha, look, the rumors are true. That they have, well, that sensitive nose. No wonder they come to you so seldom, buddy, you smell like alcohol here.”

Eren could smell the scent intensify as one of Hannes's drinking buddies leaned towards him, moving away from the table.

“Would you like us to help you work on your… alcohol sensitivity?”

“How about I help you work with pain sensitivity?” he, without thinking, snapped back.

What a bunch of wretched drunks. Eren felt unbearably sorry for asking such a rabble for help. But what else could he do? Guttural laughter rolled through the room.

“Oh, look at this, this thing has guts.”

Eren took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and hugged the bag tighter to him. Take it easy. Breathe in. Breath out. It will be over soon. He just needs to be patient a little more. A little bit.

“Passport and test,” Eren reminded sharply and Hannes finally got up on staggering legs and trudged towards the closed boxes.

Having clicked the key in one of the shelves, he pushed it aside, looked through the stacks and fished out the necessary documents from the common heap. Eren suppressed the tremulous feeling of delight that was growing deep inside and filling his entire being. He did not let him go outside. They could not know what he looked like and yet he could not appear open. In any sense of the word. Hannes handed the papers, open, across the table and Eren grabbed it straight from his hands and held them tight to his chest. He took a step back — you never know what these idiots could think of — and examined the acquired passport. It looked like it was officially issued by the authorities, the lettering, printing, even printing ink is indistinguishable from the original. Indeed, the carriers knew their business and approached it with graceful diligence. Never before in Eren's memory had they caught someone from a passport on suspicion with unreliability. Even though the fake documents were terribly expensive, they were definitely worth it and the chances of being caught in the ferry with such a piece of paper are zero.

If the smuggler frames the immigrant, then the immigrant will frame the smuggler. For their transportation, one side was threatened with a tribunal, the other with a exile to the island. This is a delicate matter and it does not tolerate mistakes. And it also explained why these tickets and documents costed so much.

Eren turned the cover over and looked at the seal of the coat of arms in the middle: a shield with a white cross, one section of the army for each unit.

“Well, goggles, how do you like it? You didn't say the name, so be content with what it is.”

He scanned the lines carefully and slammed the blue leather cover shut, turning his attention to the fake blood test. At one time, all the inhabitants of Paradise passed it, someone when they applied for a job, someone when they got married, when they were born or crossed a government office. Well, or a ghetto. On a wide beige sheet, inside two large printed squares, purple spots stand out: in one a fingerprint, in the other a drop of blood. Features that Eren did not possess.

_Race: Marlyan_  
_Species: human_

Something smoldered inside, hard and hot, burning and devouring from the inside, making it difficult to breathe. Flares and sparks rose, threatening to ignite bright flames and explode.

Two lines. Everything you need to live where you want, work wherever you want. To sleep under a solid roof, eat regularly and be aware of what awaits you tomorrow. To decide what to believe, who to love, who to worship. To be considered worthy of respect and equality.

To be free.

Two devilish lines. That don't even mean anything. Anger was bursting at the seams. His head was spinning, everything around was dim and blood was boiling in his veins.

“You know, not that they can trace you by your name.” Eren could barely hear their voices

It's true. Eren did not get caught in any raid and wasn’t registered in any headquarters and the white strip of fabric worn by all residents of the city was never attached to his forearm. But this didn’t mean that he had to go and tell everyone what his name was.

“To devil with it, with a name, in this outfit you will definitely be mistaken for a refugee.”

He swears, one more time one of these bastards will laugh and Eren will turn their faces to a bloody mess. He tried to control himself, handing half the amount to Hannes.

“As agreed. Part now, part near the ferry.”

The latter looked at the cheques and took it slowly, counting it.

“They’re right.” He paused to look in his direction, then began flipping through the bills again. “you look suspicious. I don't need problems, okay?”

Eren was gripped by heavy doubt. He never went out into the streets, revealing even half of his face. He shook his head, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh, really? What about me? Or you think I am all buddy-buddy with the PSA?" Eren waved his passport a little “As long as it is with me to no one will give a shit about what I am wearing.”

There was a sudden sharp pop, like a table being hit, that made the liquor bottles vibrate. Eren looked up, a moment of primitive panic taking hold of his body, forcing him to back down a little. His hand tightened on the blade hidden in his belt; not that it was necessary, but raw instinct was urging him to do something. The contents of the glass that Hannes had slammed into the table shattered, creating a halo of glistening drops around it.

“ I think that you should give a shit about it. It’s you whom they will capture if everything goes to hell. Big shots are showing interest in this area lately,” He spoke clearly for a man who was completely drunk. Probably, the result of years of alcoholic experience. “... because of certain robberies” Eren shrugged of the explicit look man gave him. “ Some sayin’ they sent survey corps here.”

Oh. _Oh_

A shuddering breath left his lips. Everything inside him went cold of horror. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. What to do? This was serious. Things are getting much more complicated than they need to be. Soldiers came all this way across the continent... it was unheard of. His heart was pumping so hard and fast so it echoed in his head like in empty jar.

“ ...they only care about cases on the island.” He mentally shuddered, maybe physically too. “What are they doing here?»

“How would I know?” Hannes shrugged his shoulders a little, condolence clear in his eyes. He took a long sip again. Fuck him and his pity. What does he know? Is his life on risk just as mine? Fuck no. I want to throw up. Not like I can because I eat really rarely, but I sure feel that way. This is so so bad. Fuck. Fuck everything and survey corps.   
  


_Especially_ survey corps.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my version of aftermath of Great Titan War  
> hope you enjoy (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)
> 
> I changed some things in this chapter, but it’s for you to decide to reread or not
> 
> p.s. I decided to change timeline because came to conclusion what 19th century doesn’t really fit in my story.  
> 


End file.
